


Those Flashing Red and Blue Lights

by StarProphecy7279



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarProphecy7279/pseuds/StarProphecy7279
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovino remembers only too well those flashing red and blue lights that flooded his bedroom the night his parents were killed. Little does he know, however, just how much that night would change his life, in the form of the young Spaniard across the street. Slowly, with Antonio’s help, Lovino will come to realize that there are worse things in the world than being an orphan… and maybe even fall in love along the way. Spamano AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Flashing Red and Blue Lights

A/N: Look at all the nothings I regret :D  
Summary: Lovino remembers only too well those flashing red and blue lights that flooded his bedroom the night his parents were killed. Little does he know, however, just how much that night would change his life, in the form of the young Spaniard across the street. Slowly, with Antonio’s help, Lovino will come to realize that there are worse things in the world than being an orphan… and maybe even fall in love along the way. Spamano AU  
Warnings: domestic abuse, scenes of a graphic sexual nature, language, ANGST.  
If you were to talk to my brother about the night our parents died, you wouldn’t get a very interesting story. My little brother doesn’t remember that night. He is unable to recall our mother’s red dress or our father’s blue tie as they stood by the front door of our childhood home. He cannot revoke the sound of our mother’s voice as she kissed us on both cheeks and told us to behave for the elderly woman that would be supervising us for the night. He can’t remember our father hugging us goodnight or us waving as the black sports car pulled out of the driveway and drove off. I, being two years my brother’s senior, can. I had no idea, when my mother told us she loved us in our native Italian that it would be the last time I ever heard it, but I remember it and relish it like a jewel. I was only seven when they died, but I remember the sirens and those flashing red and blue lights when the police came to tell us what had happened.  
A drunk driver was the reason I was raised by my grandfather. An idiot redneck leaving the bar at three in the morning in his huge, tiny penis pickup truck hit our small sports car head on. My father, who had been driving, was killed on impact. My mother died two hours later in the hospital.  
And just like that, the life my brother and I had always known was gone, and we were shipped from our home in New Jersey to a small town in New York to live with my Grandfather, Romano, for whom I was given my second name.  
The day I moved in is the day I met him, the one this story is really about.  
I remember it well, standing in the kitchen, glaring at my grandfather as he attempted to entertain us, make us feel more comfortable in our new home.  
“Lovino, what’s that in your ear?”  
I rolled my eyes. The pathetic magic tricks hadn’t interested me since I had been four. My brother, on the other hand, had always been easily entertained—not to mention gullible—and stood on his toes to look in my ear.  
“Ve, I don’t see anything, Nonno…,” he said. I wanted to slap him.  
“Are you sure, Feli?” Nonno said, jovially. “Look closer.”  
I rolled my eyes again, crossing my arms over my chest as my brother leaned in closer to my head.  
“Ve, there’s nothing there.”  
“Really? I can definitely see something. Let me see…” A quarter appeared in his hand as if he had suddenly pulled it out of my ear. I only continued to glare at him, unamused as my brother clapped excitedly.  
“Come now, Lovino. Can’t you give me a little smile?”  
The answer was a resounding “No,” but I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t said a word, in fact, since the police had come to tell us our parents were dead, a fact that had both my grandfather and the psychologist my family was now seeing worried. I didn’t really see it as a problem. The last thing I had said was “Ti amo,” to my mother—Italian for “I love you.” I wanted that to be on the tip of my tongue for a while. Why was that such a problem?  
“Oh, Lovino… I know you’re sad. I’m sad too… but silence isn’t going to solve anything, Babino.”  
Still, I said nothing. Nonno sighed but before he could say another word, the doorbell rang. Great. Another idiot from this idiotic neighborhood, I thought as Nonno stood to go answer the door.  
“Come on, Lovi!” Feliciano exclaimed, grabbing my hand and pulling me in the direction Nonno had gone. “Let’s go see who it is!”  
Oh boy. My brother’s an idiot, I thought as he dragged me at breakneck speed after our grandfather. My brother had always been the friendlier of the two of us, much to my frustration. He had always made friends easily and been eager to entertain, just like Nonno. I, on the other hand, was anti-social, even downright mean sometimes. It wasn’t as though, I did it on purpose; it was just a part of who I am. And I’m pretty damn amazing so it can’t be all that bad.  
“Hola, Señor Vargas!” said an obnoxiously happy voice. I groaned internally at the sunshiny chipperness.  
“Ah, hello, Antonio,” Nonno said in a pleased voice. Ugh, god the happiness. I was getting a mother fucking cavity. “Did your mother send you along?”  
“Sí!” the boy I still couldn’t see shouted. “She baked cookies for your new niños!”  
“How sweet of her,” said Nonno.  
It was at this moment that Feliciano, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet, moved slightly to his right. That was the first time I ever saw him.  
Every bit of him screamed poverty: the red shirt he wore—patterned in the design of the Spanish flag—was faded and slightly too big for him, his denim shorts sporting massive holes in the knees. His feet, left bare, were covered in so much dirt; his skin appeared to be several shades darker than the rest of him, which already had a dusty brown tint. His hair was so messy it appeared he had never even heard of a brush. But what really stood out on him were his eyes: they were the brightest green I had ever seen, like emeralds shining in his tanned face. They were so exuberant and expressive, only adding to the wide, toothy smile he wore plastered on his face.  
But what Feliciano was preoccupied with was the plate of saran-wrapped chocolate chips cookies.  
“Yay! Cookies!”  
“Antonio, these are my grandsons,” Nonno said ushering us both forward with a hand at the small of our backs. “Feliciano and Lovino.”  
I glared at him. Why did he always have to introduce Feliciano first? I was older!  
“Ve~ hello!” shouted Feliciano. I just turned my glare on him. His smile didn’t falter. He was far too used to my foul moods to be intimidated.  
“Hello, Feli; hi Lovi.”  
…Lovi? I should have punched him. No one called me Lovi and got away with it… except for my little brother because he couldn’t pronounce my name. I never even let my mother call me that, I thought bitterly.  
“Say hello, Lovino,” said Nonno, prodding me lightly in the back.  
I only continued to glare at the boy before me. He was too happy, I decided, too cheerful and smiley. That could only mean he was an idiot.  
Antonio’s head cocked to the side in confusion.  
“Can Lovi not talk yet?” he asked, looking up at Nonno.  
“No, no, he can. He’s just choosing not to.”  
“Why?”  
“Well… Lovi’s very sad right now. He misses his parents.”  
I wanted to punch him. I was getting sick of everyone talking about me as if I wasn’t there. Just because I wasn’t speaking didn’t mean I was stupid but all the adults around me were treating me like I was. They were the ones who were stupid, I concluded.  
“Oh…,” Antonio said. He suddenly seemed much more somber as his hand came up to rest over his heart. “I understand.”  
Somehow I doubted that. How could someone this cheerful possibly understand what I was feeling? Clearly, he’d never experienced a loss in his life.  
“I miss my daddy too,” Antonio said solemnly. “He lives in Spain with mi madrastra and big brother.”  
Oh boy. Back story. #sarcasm.  
“I’ve only seen him twice. But last time he came here, he gave me this,” from the front of his shirt he pulled a large, emerald encrusted cross. “He said as long as I had it close to my heart, he would be there too.”  
Without another word he pulled the chain over his head and lowered it back over mine, dropping the necklace onto my chest.  
“I think it’ll keep your mama and papa close to you too. You need it more than I do. Your parents are further away than mine are.”  
“That’s very kind of you, Antonio,” said Nonno, softly. “Lovino, what do you say?”  
For a moment, I did nothing, simply stared at him, my head cocked to the side, regarding him closely. Then, slowly, very slowly, I raised my arms in front of me.  
And pushed him. As hard as I could.  
With a yell of shock, Antonio stumbled, back over the threshold before losing his balance and falling flat on his back on the pavement in front of our house.  
“Lovino!”  
But Antonio was laughing, pushing himself back to a sitting position, his wide smile back in place on his face.  
“I like you, Lovi,” Antonio said, pushing himself back to his feet. “You’re funny.”  
I’d had enough of this idiot. Ignoring my grandfather’s chastising, I turned on my heel, and stomped off in the direction of my new room to sulk and reflect on what my new life in this pathetic neighborhood would likely end up. 

The following week, Feliciano and I had to start school. If you’ve ever had to switch schools in the middle of the school year, you know how stressful it is. It suuuuuuuucks.  
Since we lived only a few blocks from Hetalia Elementry, the local public school (I know. Weird name.) Nonno thought it seemed rather pointless for us to drive down. Nonno already walked Antonio to school every morning as his mother had to head in to work around the time he had to leave, and for some reason, his step father refused to do it.  
The first thing that registered with me when I saw Antonio that morning was that I had never seen him look this clean before. I’d seen him wandering around the streets many times during the past week and he had always been covered in a thin layer of dirt, wearing his dirty, worn out clothes. Today, he looked prim and proper in his pressed white shirt and blue school jacket. Part of the shock was the fact that this was the first time I had ever seen him wear shoes.  
The second thing I noticed was that he looked more miserable than I had ever seen him before. Antonio was almost always smiling, his green eyes sparkling with laughter and joy. Right now, he was sitting on the steps of his porch; his eyes shut tight, his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the angry voices issuing from the screen door behind him.  
“Look what you did, you stupid bitch!”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Aagh!”  
As a scream rent the air, Nonno dropped mine and Feliciano’s hand, running ahead of us to bolt up the stairs past Antonio to hammer on the door.  
“Alma!” Nonno shouted, “Alma, are you okay?”  
“Just a minute,” came a weak voice from inside. Feliciano and I exchanged confused looks as footsteps approached.  
“H-hello, Romano.”  
From doorway emerged a lovely woman who could only be Antonio’s mother. She had the same curly brown hair and dusty colored skin. However her demeanor was as different from Antonio’s as was possible to be. Whereas Antonio was usually all smiles and laughs, this woman seemed broken and depressed. The part of her face that wasn’t concealed by the hair falling in her eyes was pale and sunken, and the lines around her mouth revealed how often she frowned. If her downcast eyes were any indication, she didn’t have a drop of self-confidence.  
“Are you okay?” Nonno asked.  
“Y-yes, of course,” the woman stuttered, her gaze remaining trained on the cement stairs beneath her.  
Without a word, Nonno placed a hand under the woman’s chin, gently forcing her to meet his gaze.  
“Walk into another door?” he asked, his voice heavy with irony.  
The woman’s left eye was horribly blackened, swollen and painful looking. And that wasn’t all. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the woman was wearing a very thick layer of make-up, poorly masking a series of bruises and cuts all over her face. It looked as if she had been in some sort of accident.  
“Y-yes,” she murmured.  
“Alma--”  
“I said I’m fine,” she said defiantly.  
Nonno did not look convinced.  
“Maybe I should have a talk with that door.”  
“No. I’m fine. I’m just running late for work. Please….”  
The concern was still evident in Nonno’s eyes but he said no more about it, letting his hand fall back to his side. Antonio’s mother sighed in relief and turned to look at her son.  
“Come give me a hug, hijo.”  
Antonio got to his feet and ran to his mother, wrapping his arms around her middle, tightly.  
“Have a good day, Hijo,” said Alma, kissing her son’s forehead and giving him a strained smile. Antonio did not return the grin.  
“Mamí… por favor….”  
“Soy bien, amor,” Alma murmered. “No estés preocupado.”  
“Pides mas de es possible, Mamí,”  
Alma chuckled quietly.  
“Be nice to Lovino and Feliciano,” she said, holding onto Antonio’s hands. “First days are hard.”  
“I know, Mamí,”  
“Good boy. Now I have to go. Be good.”  
Antonio nodded as his mother pulled away and moved toward the beat up old station wagon in the driveway.  
“I’ll be by to pick him up around five,” Alma added to Nonno.  
“Okay,” said Nonno. “Have a good day.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Bye bye, Mamí,” said Antonio, still looking slightly miserable.  
“Bye bye, hijo.”  
As we began our trek to school, I glanced up at Antonio; he kept looking back over his shoulder to where his mother’s car had previously been. I wanted to ask him what the hell his problem was but that would obviously require talking, something I wasn’t willing to do. Instead, I looked up at Nonno expecting him to ask Antonio what was wrong, but Nonno didn’t seem to be paying attention. His face was morphed into a scowl worthy almost of me as he stared at the pavement beneath his feet. What was wrong with everyone? Only my stupid brother seemed to be oblivious to the tension surrounding us. The idiot was skipping along ahead of us, singing at the top of his voice. My brother’s stupid.  
No one said a word as we walked. In fact, it wasn’t until we had arrived in front of the doors to the main office and Antonio was about to scamper off that Nonno finally spoke.  
“Wait just a moment, Antonio.”  
Antonio doubled back his head cocked to the side in puzzlement as Nonno knelt down in front of him to be at his eye-level, his face a mask of soft concern.  
“Antonio… are there any problems at home?”  
I saw his green eyes widen in terror, but only for a moment.  
“No,” he replied too quickly.  
“Seth is treating your mother alright?”  
Here, I actually saw a brief wave of anger wash over Antonio’s features. His eyes darkened and I saw his mouth turn down in a scowl. But it was gone nearly as quickly as it had come, his face smoorthing out as he looked up at my grandfather and smiled.  
“Of course.”  
As someone who got away with lying quite a lot, I knew an expert when I saw one. He was good, no doubt but I could see right through his false, too wide smile. His tone was too calm, his stance a touch too defensive, and he was looking at Nonno’s nose, not his eyes.  
Nonno evidentially didn’t believe him either. His brow creased further in concern, his eyes darting between Antonio’s as if searching for the truth.  
“I have to go, sir,” Antonio said quickly. “I’ll be late.”  
And before Nonno could call him back, he had run off in the direction of the third grade classrooms.  
Nonno sighed, getting to his feel and pinching the bridge of his nose.  
“Come on, boys,” he mumbled, “We don’t want to be late.”  
We deposited Feli in the pre-kindergarten classroom. Idiot was already chatting it up with a blonde German. How did he manage to make friends so quickly? I’ve always been jealous of that trait of his.  
When we passed by the first grade classrooms, I started to get confused. It looked like Nonno was leading me back toward the main office.  
“You’re not going to class yet, Lovino,” he said in response to my questioning look. “I want you to see the school consoler first.”  
Ah, another shrink. Lovely. Just in case I hadn’t seen enough of them in the past three weeks. All Feli and I had done was be shifted in and out of therapy, having adults talk at us about our feelings and our parents—two things I didn’t want to think about. I scowled at the prospect of again repeating the process.  
“Now don’t look like that,” said Nonno sternly. “You’re silence is worrying me. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”  
I’m fine! I wanted to shout. But that would of course require talking and I wasn’t willing to do that. I failed to see why there was anything wrong with that.  
“Hello,” said the overly-chipper receptionist when we entered the office. “How can I help you?”  
Well you could start by taking off that too-red lipstick and smiling less. Why was everyone in this stupid town so damn smiley? It was downright irritating.  
“We’re here to see Mrs. Jones,” said Nonno. I rolled my eyes at his perky tone. 

“Ah, you must be Lovinol” she said turning her red lipped smile to me. Shockingly I just glared at her. “She’s expecting you. You can go on back.”  
“Thank you,” said Nonno, pulling me by the hand down a hallway to a door adorn with a gold plaque that read “Linda Jones”  
Nonno knocked. The door was opened by a very pretty, bonde woman.  
“You must be Mr. Vargas,” she said brightly, adjusting her square glasses in front of her bright blue eyes and sweeping her ponytail over her shoulder. “And you must be Lovino,” she added to me in chipper tones. I winced at the high-pitched greeting. “Would you like to come talk to me for a little while.”  
No.  
“Go on, Lovino,” said Nonno giving me a push in the small of the back. “I’ll be right out here.”  
Knowing it was pointless to fight it, I sighed and walked through the door Mrs. Jones held open for me. Still smiling, she closed the door on Nonno and sat down in an armchair, motioning for me to take a seat on the black, leather sofa across from her.  
One glance around the office revealed just how popular the woman was amongst the students: the walls were plastered with crayon-drawn pictures and cards proclaiming “I love you, Ms. Jones!” in marker, the desk littered with little hand-made knick-knacks and crudely painted animals. The kids at this school obviously loved their consoler.  
“Lovino, why don’t you take a seat?”  
I’d been distracted by the art around the room and had been standing there staring around for nearly a full minute. Slightly, I shook my head and climbed onto the sofa, seating myself between a stuffed lion and an otter puppet.  
“Alright,” she said, crossing her legs and leaning towards me, peering at me over the table as if I were a very interesting TV program. “I understand you and your brother just moved here from New Jersey.”  
I said nothing.  
“How do you like New York so far?”  
Again, I said nothing. This wasn’t going to work. I wasn’t going to talk. I just wasn’t going to do.  
After a moment of silence, Mrs. Jones sat back in her chair and said thoughtfully, “You know, your grandfather tells me you’re quite the little artist.”  
This actually took me by surprise. I liked to draw and paint, yes, but I wasn’t as good as my little brother as people always liked to remind me. Feliciano was five years old and already drawing pretty realistic faces. I was good for my age but not as good as him. I felt a rush of affection for my grandfather at his thoughtfulness at mentioning this.  
“Would you be willing to draw a picture for me?”  
I pursed my lips, intrigued as she got to her feet and moved to a cabinet, opening it and pulling out paper and a box of colored pencils. This time she settled herself cross-legged on the floor in front of the table, setting the supplies down in front of her.  
“Can you draw a picture of your family for me?”  
I saw nothing immediately wrong with this so I slid og the couch onto my knees in front of the table and pulled the pencils and paper toward me to begin scribbling out a picture of my mother, father, Feli and me. Then, I glanced up at the door and added Nonno in for good measure before handing the picture to Mrs. Jones.  
“Hmm… I see you have your brother and yyou right here….”  
I nodded.  
“And… is that your mom and dad?”  
Again, I nodded.  
“I bet what happened was pretty hard on you.”  
I said nothing, just stared at Mrs. Jones, my heart sinking. I didn’t want to talk about this again. I was sick of everyone treating me like I was made of glass, feeling sorry for me and my poor, orphaned brother. I didn’t want to think about what had happened. It was easier to just pretend Feliciano and I were on vacation visiting Nonno for a few weeks, that Mamma and Papá were back home ejoying some alone time. I didn’t want to think about them being dead, remember their funeral or the flashing red and blue lights that had so drastically altered the course of my life. Why couldn’t everyone just drop it?  
“Lovino… do you like your grandfather.”  
I looked at her, surprised by the question before nodding.  
“You know, I bet what happened was just as hard on him as it was on you and your brother.”  
I was silent.  
“There are a lot of people you can talk to, Lovino; your grandpa, your teacher, your brother, me… you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to but I want you to know it’s okay to be sad.”  
I just stared at her.  
“Now, I’m going to call you in to talk once a week for a little while.”  
Great.  
“But right now, I want you to head to class, get to know your teacher and make some new friends, okay?”  
Unlikely.  
“She stood up and motioned for me to do the same. Getting to my feet I followed her out of the room, back into the main office where Nonno was sitting.  
“All done?” he asked.  
“Yes,” said Mrs. Jones. “I think he’ll be fine, but I would like to see him again.”  
“Okay, when?”  
“I’ll call him out of class next Thursday after lunch.”  
“Okay,” said Nonno smiling. “Thank you.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Hello,” said an elderly woman when we got to the first grade classroom. “Are you Lovino?”  
“Yes,” Nonno answered for me. “He hasn’t spoken much lately,” he added in reply to the teacher’s questioning look. “Might be a good thing too. My daughter told me he has quite vocabulary.” He forced a chuckle.  
“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Lovino,” said the teacher. “My name is Mrs. Hoffman. Would you like me to introduce you to the class?”  
No.  
“Quiet please, boys and girls,” she called to the class. The mindless early morning chatter died away as all heads turned to look at the teacher. “Everyone we have a new student joining us today.” I saw a few eyes flicker towards me before fixing themselves back on Mrs. Hoffman. “This,” she put her hand on my shoulder to indicate me, “is Lovino. Everyone say hi to Lovino.”  
“Hi, Lovino,” chanted the mindless idiots. I just glared at them all.  
“Good,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling fondly at her students. “And I know you’ll all do everything you can to make Lovino feel welcome, right?”  
There was a general murmur of agreement. Please. These morons didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.  
“Alright,” Nonno crouched down in front of me, holding onto one of my hands. “Are you okay if I leave, Lovino?”  
I rolled my eyes and nodded. I wasn’t three. I’d been to school before. I didn’t need everyone worrying about me.  
“Okay,” he hugged me a muttered “have a good day, amore.”  
I nodded again.  
As nonno left the classroom, I turned to look at my new classmates. My stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch: I had never been very good at the whole social aspect of public schooling. That was more Feliciano’s area of expertise. My eyes scanned the faces before me wondering if any one of them would have the patience needed to be my friend. Somehow, I doubted it.  
“Lovino, why don’t you sit right here, next to Berwald,” said Mrs. Hoffman, indicating a cross-looking boy with blonde hair and glasses.  
I don’t want to sit next to Berwald, I thought. Berwald looks scary.  
The boy’s face was set in a permanent scowl, one that rivaled even mine. Briefly, his blue eyes made contact with mine but I couldn’t find the courage to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.  
“Go on,” said Mrs. Hoffman.  
Dammit, didn’t look like I had much of a choice. Awkwardly, I pulled out the chair of the desk she had indicated and sat down, careful not to look at my neighbor as his cold eyes followed me, but losing th battle with myself when Mrs. Hoffman walked away.  
I didn’t know why this boy was so intimidating. It had something to do with his eyes, but I just could put my finger on it. We held each other’s gaze for a moment, neither of us speaking. Then slowly, very slowly, Berwald reached into his desk, causing me to wince back in fear.  
He pulled out a candy bar, a mini Hershey’s bar, a laid it in front of me on my desk without a word. Confused, my eyes moved between the chocolate before me and the boy who had set it there, wondering what the hell was going on. Berwald said nothing. Just turned to train his eyes back on the teacher leaving me to ponder his strange behavior in puzzled silence. 

Nothing of interest really happened that day until our first recess. Unlike the rest of the idiots in my class, I decided to walk outside rather than sprinting like my life depended on it, so by the time I exited the building, most of the school was already on the playground.  
“Lovi!”  
I whiled around at the call, expecting to find my little brother, probably with a gang of idiot pre-k students, but instead found myself glaring at the last person I wanted to see.  
“See! I told you guys! He’s cute!”  
…cute?! I was going to kill Antonio! No one called me cute.  
Admittedly, his annoying boisterous attitude was a tad refreshing after the events of this morning. Whatever had been bothering him seemed to have been long forgotten if the smile on his face was any indication. It may have had something to do with the two boys flanking him as he darted across the playground to where I stood with my arms crossed, glaring at him.  
“Oui,” said the blonde boy on his left when they reached me in a heavy French accent, “He is very cute, non?”  
No, I wanted to say. But of course, I didn’t say anything, just continued to glare up at Antonio, in annoyance. My neighbor was an idiot.  
“Lovi, these are my two best friends in the whole wide world, Francis—“ he indicated the French boy that had spoken—“and Gilbert—“ he gestured to the other boy on his red, the one wearing sun glasses and a bright red hoodie, hiding his hair.  
“You!” shouted the one called Gilbert, suddenly. “Do you think Prussia is an awesome country?”  
Good god, this boy was louder than Feliciano.  
“It isn’t a country at all, Gilbert,” said Francis. “My mamman told me it hasn’t been one sinve World War II.”  
“Prussia’s too awesome not to exist! Right, kid?” he added to me, lowering his sunglasses to reveal his eyes.  
“I told you. Lovi doesn’t talk.”  
But my determined silence was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment, for my eyes had met that of the Gilbert boy and I had stumbled backwards in shock. Gilbert’s eyes were red, bright red like that of a demon. I almost wanted to scream and run away at the sight but instead I stood staring, horrified.  
“What?” said Gilbert, tilting his head in confusion.  
“What’s wrong, Lovi,” asked Antonio moving to slip an arm around my shoulders. I was still so shocked I didn’t even shrug him off as his eyes followed my line of vision to what I was staring at.  
“Oh… I think your eyes scared him, Gil.”  
“My eyes aren’t scary! They’re awesome!”  
“It’s okay, Lovi,” said Antonio in soothing tone. “Gilbert’s eyes are just that color because he’s… what do you call it again, Gil?”  
“Albino,” said Gilbert, smirking widely, like it was the coolest thing in the world. “It means I’m too awesome for Melanin. The stuff that gives you color,” he added in response to my questioning look. “It makes me too awesome for sunlight so I have to wear hoodies and sunglasses when I’m outside.”  
“Yeah,” said Antonio, “he’s not scary. Just special. Like Mamá says.”  
“You mean awesome.”  
I stared at the boys around me, now convinced I had fallen into some parallel universe infested with morons. Slowly coming back to my sense, I registered that Antonio still had has arm around me. I shrugged him off with a scowl. He just laughed merrily.  
“Lovi! We were going to play tetherball. Do you wanna play with us?” Antonio asked.  
No.  
Without waiting for an answer, Antonio grabbed my hand and began pulling me across the playground toward the tetherball court, leaving me only to reflect on the fact that my idior neighbor was drawing very close to tromping on my last nerve. 

We met Nonno outside after the final bell tolled. This time our walk was actually quite plesant. Antonio was still in his normal good mood and spent most of the stroll chatting with Nonno and Feliciano about school. From the sound of it Feliciano had loved his first day.  
“Ve~ and they have paint, and drawing, and clay! Me and Ludwig painted pictures during free time. He’s not very good, but I’m gonna teach him!”  
“Very good, Feli,” Nonno chuckled, patting my stupid brother on the head. “And how was your day, Lovino?”  
I looked up at him, blankly, giving no anser.  
“Still not talking, I see,” said Nonno disappointed. “Well there’s always tomorrow.”  
“Señor Vargas,” piped up Antonio, “It’s such a nice day. Can we go to the park before we head home?”  
“I suppose so,” said Nonno. “The boys haven’t seen the park yet anyway.”  
The playground at the public park was small, consisting of only a small slide and a swing set, much to Feli’s excitement. He and Nonno bounded over to play on the swings as Antonio took my hand and began pulling me towards the forest that flanked the park.  
“Come on, Lovi,” he said. “I wanna show you something.”  
I got nervous when he started leading me off the small path and into the thick trees surrounding us.  
“Don’t worry,” said Antonio, when I faltered, “I know where I’m going.”  
Hesitantly, I followed.  
We walked for nearly twenty minutes in silence, me growing more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by, worrying we had gotten lost in the trees and that the idiot humming in front of me had lied to me. But,after what seemed like an hour had passed, we finally reached a clearing blocked off by a wooden sign reading Do Not Enter, which Antonio ignored as if he hadn’t seen it.  
“Don’t worry,” he said again, when I stopped and tried to pull my hand out of his. “I come here all the time. Nothing bad’ll happen. Trust me.”  
No way, I thought. Something bad always happens.  
Antonio pulled me through what looked like some sort of abandoned cabin, the door nearly falling off the frame when Antonio pulled it open and ushered me inside to sit on the dusty floor in front the empty fire place.  
“I come here a lot,” said Antonio scooting closer to me. “Mostly when my parents fight. It’s a good place to be alone and clear your head. I thought it might help you start talking again.”  
Who says I want to talk again? I thought.  
“I know how you feel, Lovi,” said Antonio wisely. “You’re lonely and sad and you feel like no one could possibly understand you.”  
Shut up.  
“You feel like you might die, it hurts so much.”  
Shut up.  
“But it’s okay to feel like that, Lovi. No one will judge you for –“  
“Shut up, you stupid bastard!” I shouted, finally having enough of this idiot. Where the hell did he get off telling me how I feel? How dare he insinuate he know me. He didn’t have a fucking clue!  
But the idiot was smiling triumphantly at me, not even a little bit unnerved by my colorful outburst. Furiously, I realized the idiot had provoked me into speaking and I’d fallen directly into his trap.  
“See? It’s not so bad,” said Antonio, cheerfully.  
“You idiot!” I shouted, finally giving in and punching Antonio as hard as I could in the arm. He just laughed and rubbed his shoulder where my fist had connected.  
“It worked didn’t it?” he said chuckling. “Seriously, I like you, Lovi. You’re funny.”  
Bastard had no idea what he was getting himself into.

A/N: I can't get the hang of the HTML thing :/ Also, if you have encountered this story on fanfiction and are worried that I may have stolen it, fear not young minion! For I am also ObsessiveAlchemist and this story is mine. Thank you for your concern, though :D


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